In a Deep Dark Wood
by SaltBud
Summary: Olivia doesn't return after she's ordered to take a long weekend off and the relationships of her team begin to shatter. When she reappears will they be able to fix her and themselves, or will the 16th precinct be irrevocably changed? Centers on Olivia, eventually AO. No particular timeline, but sometime before Alex enters Witness Protection. TW: Graphic violence and sexual assault


The last light of day filtered down between the leaves, igniting on tiny droplets as they hurtled towards earth. Her palm throbbed, the scrape that marred it long but not deep enough to warrant stitches. It had been created when her boot slipped from it's grip on a rain-soaked rock during her decent. Her left hand had flailed for rock and her right had caught the gnarled root of a black spruce, tearing open. Olivia had been hiking for days, this her third and final and it had begun to pour around 10am. She had packed with the expectation of the rain, but hadn't made the time she'd hoped to, the weather slowing her progress. The hike was one she knew well, an out and back of approximately 30 miles winding up, around, and back down the peak of Mount Harper in upstate New York. The trip was about an hour or so north of the city, and as a uniform she had done it several times, always on her own, and always in three days over a long holiday weekend. She had chosen it again when Cragen had threatened her with dismissal if he saw her anywhere near the 16th precinct from that Saturday to Monday. She knew of course the threat was an empty one but she had taken the bait and decided to revisit her old trekking ground.

To her chagrin she knew the distance had taken longer to tackle, not only due to the rain, but because she was rusty. She hadn't hiked more than 18 miles in years, and had foolishly thought the ability would come back easily to her despite the misuse. Now as she neared the end of the downhill portion of the trail her course would begin to run parallel to a river that ambled around the mountain, easy and flat from here on out. The river's water would be running quick and brimming, full of rain run-off, and she would follow the sound of it, deep in the woods beside her, for the final seven miles. At the end she would emerge from the woods, back at the small gravel parking lot she'd begun at on Saturday.

At her wrist a small pulse pressed against her, a chirp accompanying it. The Garmen told her she had hiked the 23 miles as expected, and that the afternoon had crawled into evening. 6pm. She would be covering the final miles in the dark. Stretching her sore, un-bandaged hand she walked on, her feet sloshing through the slick leaves as raindrops tapped heavily onto the trees that tunneled around the trail. Soon the exhale of moving water joined the chorus and her bladder began to protest at the sound.

In the past on good weather hikes she would stop beside the river, walking the eight minutes or so off trail to its edge to rest. As her bladder persisted she knew it would also make for a private place to relieve herself before moving on. It would only take a few minutes, and she had hiked out of trails in the dark before, a headlamp a given part of her camping gear. She was already soaked to the bone, resting a minute or two near the river wouldn't hurt.

Cutting right off of the trail she followed the hushed whir of the rushing water until she stood at the lip of the over-filled riverbed. The water looked muddied and angry, rambling past and skipping over sunken stones to create a boiling film of white nearest the shore. Bending she dipped her uninjured hand into its surface. It felt colder than the air but inseparable from the feel of the rain on her skin. Both sang if the winter to come. When she righted her knees cracked audibly. The woods surrounding the gash of the river on the side where she stood were sparse, trees set further apart then rejoining into a thicket as they moved back towards the trail. It reminded her of a bandshell, erected to face the water and made of pine and spruce. On the opposite bank trees ran to the mouth of the water, meeting the flow, their robots exposed in silt and licked by the eruptions of whitecaps.

She stared for a moment, slowly removing her sodden pack from her shoulders, the spongey feel of wet fabric against skin cooling as the heat born between her body and the pack disappeared. Somewhere behind her a loud crack called out from the forest nearer the trail. With the heavy storm branches had been snapping all over the forest. The weight of her bag gone she shrugged stiffly, rolling out her shoulders, pops resounding deep in her back as though to call a response to the snap in the trees. She reached for her fly.

Another loud burst exploded, this time closer behind her and accompanied by a low, gravely hum. Downed branches didn't hum. Something hurtled at her through the forest. Just as the 4x4 came into view she took hold of her backpack, moving out of instinct to shield herself behind a cluster of trunks at the water's edge. A man in his late thirties, lean with long dirty blond haired wrapped into a pony tail straddled the vehicle, his once white t-shirt stained dark with brown and black. He wore khakis, the knees of which looked hardened with mud, the patches like two black holes in the middle of his legs. Something blue bounced on the back of the four wheeler, tied there with several loops of nylon card and as he circled the clearing a length of auburn curls swung from one end of what she realized was a tarp. Olivia's stomach dropped.

Pulling the 4x4 to a stop closest to where the trees began to thicken the man hopped from it and clapped his hands loudly against his thighs, wiping the moisture from them. He had a gun holstered at his side. He moved to the tarp, neon in the dusk light, and slowly unwound the rope encircling it. The sound of droplets berating the plastic rose thunderously. It was as though all other sound disappeared, the river miles away, nothing breathing in the woods but them, the only rushing sound Olivia's blood in her ears. The tarp unfurled in a flourish of blue and skin and detritus and almost as though she had appeared out of thin air a woman suddenly lay, sprawled and nude, on the rotting bed of leaves.

At first Olivia thought the woman must have been dragged through the mud that splotched the man's clothing, the same dark brown encasing her pale body. It took a moment to reconcile that the muck was actually a mixture of dried and drying blood and deep, ferocious bruises. She held her own breath as she watched the woman's chest for any sign of rise or fall. It seemed the body lying prone on the ground was dead, unmoving until like a gunshot a cough breached the air. Somewhere deep in the timber a bird was sent flying into the darkening sky.

The man's laughter came next, a crackling in his chest. It made Liv's stomach turn. Now the woman's chest heaved, ribs pressed under her skin as though under melting plastic. Another cough sprung form her and she gasped loudly. Panic surged through Olivia. She needed to do something, to respond, but she was unarmed save for a can of bear spray. Her nerves tingled, heightened with indecision. No part of her could settle with standing by. Years of training told her to try to mediate the situation, to step in, despite the danger it might mean for her. Slowly she unlatched the small can of bear spray at her waist, eyes locked on the man while he squatted beside the woman. Olivia took a step out from behind the knot of trees. He bent to the woman's ear, patting her gently on the shoulder as his jaw worked. He was speaking to her. Another step out into the open.

Swiftly he stood to full height again. Time warped and decelerated and Olivia's legs started moving before she could consciously tell them to do so. In shocking definition his hand moved to unclip the safety of the holster, the gun suddenly a dark and heavy mass in his hands. The sound of the rain stopped, colors blurred around them. Olivia's mouth dried instantly, lips sticking to her teeth in a snarl as a bark gurgled deep in her throat. His long finger wrapped around the trigger and depressed, and in an instant that felt everlasting a bullet tore through skin and bone and brain. The world tilted and Olivia's knees buckled.

She hadn't made it far from the water and thanked God for the patter of rain as it returned to her. He still hadn't seen her, hadn't heard her grunt over the sound of the gun firing, hadn't heard her fall to the ground. Into the deafening silence after the ring of the shot her breath grew, her chest pressing repeatedly into the underbrush. If she could make it back to her pack she could try to call for back up, could disappear into the woods and come back later with reinforcements to find the woman's body. Olivia scanned the man's face, trying to memorize his features, his sharp nose, the widow's peak of his blonde hair, the angular jaw and broad shoulders. He was more muscular than she'd first read him as, lean but all power. She stared until knew she would be able to accurately describe him when she went for help.

He returned to the 4x4, unclipping a shovel that had rested beneath the woman, beneath the tarp. Her stomach scraped the rough ground and she belly crawled backward, her eyes dragging to the woman on the forest floor. She was young, though it was hard to tell behind the muck and blood. Her body looked soft. A jolt of anger tore through Olivia.

Abruptly she felt the bulk of her pack, the brush of bark against the sole of her boot. She was back where she had begun. The bear spray still in hand she lifted herself onto hand and knee. The man stood now with his back to her, refolding the tarp in his arms, the crunch of it reverberating around them, the gun re-holstered. She kept her eyes glued to the lines of his shoulders, the transparency of his white shirt as she rose. Her hand floated into the air behind her, unwilling to turn her back on him she reached for the tree trunk beside her, feet sliding through the leavings beneath her. At her back the stream hissed as it lapped at the shoreline, close enough for her to touch. The trees and the corner of her bag skirted her vision.

When she bent for her pack the heel of her boot caught against something stiff and hidden. A root buried beneath the quilt of fallen leaves. Her weight shifted, hips cocked into an unstable squat and she tumbled, arms flailing to catch herself, heart fluttering in her chest. For a moment she thought she could hold still, could remain standing. She didn't realize how wrong she was. As though in anticipation of what was to come next her body felt pained before she ever hit the ground, terror and hope commingling in her blood and sending sparks through her. Her trunk landed silently, her right hand soft against the earth. Her left met the river, splashed like a rock tossed into still water. Loud. The man was already facing her before she could right her gaze on him.

His face was red, the cords of his neck like rods of steel behind flesh. He charged her and she backpedalled, crab walking straight into the chilly water. His hands fumbled with the holster release and he brought the gun to eye level as he reached the shore. The water around her deepened and she found it difficult to grip the slick rocks submerged with her. The are mace slipped from her grip and tumbled downstream. He squared up to aim and she automatically raised her right hand, her voice calling out above the din of water and blood in her ears. She felt her throat release pressure and her voice fly from her. She blocked her own face with her palm, as if it would prevent a bullet from driving into her skull and watched as his lips moved through splayed fingers. She couldn't hear a thing he said, could only bare the scratch on her palm to him as she floundered in the water.

With a deafening burst the scratch was obliterated, first the dull wet smack of the bullet hitting flesh then the whiz of it slicing through the air. Something near her ear burned and the smell of it hit her as a flash of hair spun into the space beside her, landing in the hurried river. The strands wriggled like thin snakes in the flow of water. The bullet wound on her hand was through and through, the pain of it consumed by the adrenaline coursing through her. The deadly metal had skated by her right ear, close enough to cut strands of hair, the smell of the burnt locks close to her cheek.

She looked up and he was shockingly close to her, up to his knees in the river. Finally, the pain came. A scream tore from her and she once again tried helplessly to scuttle away, thrusting her decimated hand into the wash, desperate for traction. She could see now that his eyes were blue. They reminded her of Elliot's. Foam hurtled upward around the force of his legs as he pushed closer, bending down and grabbing hold of her ankle he yanked hard. Her balance was shot, her weight tilting backward and forcing her head to submerge. Before she could rise again he pulled the ankle he clutched forward, her form floating just below the surface weightless and her head ricocheting off of a river rock as her body lurched towards him. He was on her instantly, knees holding her hips in place, fingers wrapping around her throat. She hadn't been able to get air since she'd submerged.

His face looked blurred from beneath the stream, like staring up through misshapen glass. She could see her own hands reaching to claw at his arms, could see them wrap around his jaw. Diluted red ran in arches down her right wrist, and where she clawed at him it smeared across the stubble on his cheeks. Soon black began to populate her vision, to darken the view of his bared teeth and she felt as though she were being tugged ever downward. Her hands started to slip, to lose grip and waiver. They were beside her under the water once more despite her commands to scratch, to tear. She could feel her eyelids disobeying her as well, her thoughts loosening and fogging. If she could only close her eyes for a moment she could have her strength back.

A few bubbles tickled against the roof of her mouth and escaped her lips as a final, squelched sigh. She knew suddenly that she would die.


End file.
